


Shattered

by hips_of_steel



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, There are two Australias, debateable happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The US wasn't the only nation fighting against the Vietnamese and their allies in the Vietnam War.<br/>Kyle Kirkland was a young serviceman with the Royal Australian Regiment. As he watches his grandson, Jett, head for Afghanistan, he writes his story, a story of Vietnam.<br/>But it is not just his story. It is also the story of a young US Marine, Alfred F. Jones, whom he fell in love with in a nation that had stolen so much from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so notes on names.
> 
> Alfie/Alfred Matthew Jones-2P America, 1P America's grandson.  
> Jett Jacob Kirkland-Younger Australia, Grandson of Kyle.  
> Ky/Kyle David Kirkland-Older Australia  
> Al/Alfred F. Jones-America
> 
> Since I have two Australias I thought some clarification might be appreciated.

_ Alfie _

When you come from a military family, you feel pride as you put on your uniform. You look at your country's flag and smile. You watch your mother and grandfather out of the corner of your eye as you graduate boot camp, and when you tell them your assignment, you try to ignore the winces.

Just because you feel pride does not mean your family wanted you to go to war.

Mom is trying to smile for me. She pats me on the back, congratulates me on my top marks and my decision to serve my country, but it sounds hollow. She pretends not to notice the packed bags and that the date circled in red on the calendar is the day I leave for my first deployment.

My grandfather, however, is more straightforward with things. "You know we worry about you."

"Yeah." I respond, knowing they do. My reminder is in front of me currently, as grandpa's left leg is sitting on a chair, himself in the wheelchair he has started using more as his hair gets grayer with each year. We're watching the sunset together on the front porch, the light disappearing over the Pacific Ocean from the California coast.

He looks up, blue eyes meeting brown. "Alfie, I went to war because I wanted to honor my father's wishes and hide my true self from the world. You know your mother and I still loves you no matter what you are, don't you?"

"I had my own reasons to be a soldier, grandpa. It's not for honor or glory for me, nor is it to hide who I am. I want to help the other men of this country and protect my friends."

He sighs. "This war is not like the great wars, Alfie. We don't know who our enemy is, who our allies are. You are fighting a war like my war. One that kills men and women for no other reason than humanity's insatiable lust for blood. Afghanistan is Vietnam in disguise."

He looks at me and then a soft smile comes to his face. He sets a hand on my arm, a light squeeze, and his tone changes.

"But I know what is in your heart, and I know I will see you again. You were born a soldier, Alfie. Whatever you decide to do with your life... I am proud to be your grandfather."

I smile back and hug him. "Thanks, Grandpa."

"Now go tell your mother how much you love her. She needs to hear it most of all."

I leave the porch as the sun finishes sinking below the horizon.

***

_ Jett _

As the sun sinks in one half of the world, it rises on another.

A similar scene plays out in the city of Sydney, Australia.

In this case, the young man also comes from a family with a military background. The grandfather served in Vietnam, and his father in the Second World War, and his father in the First World War.

The young man is named Jett Jacob Kirkland. And I am him.

I have enlisted in the military, much to the surprise of most of my family. My granddad has actively encouraged the young men in our family not to serve. Vietnam has made him shake his head at all conflicts that are solved with blood and death.

Yet when I announced my decision to my granddad, he looked at me for a moment and then nodded, simply saying a single sentence.

"If you wish to do so, than so be it."

My grandma Mary seems surprised at his lack of protest, even questions him on it. Later, when they come to visit me partway through my training, I ask him why he seems so willing to let me go.

He laughs as I ask that. "Willing? I'd be more willing to encase your feet in concrete blocks."

"Kyle!" My grandma says, startled by his statement, but he laughs, setting a hand on my shoulder. He looks me in the eyes.

"You've got the same fire in you as I did. If I told you to stay, you'd only be more convinced to go."

My grandma shakes her head, but I know he's right. My great aunts are always looking at me and sometimes they even call me Kyle, forgetting that their older brother is not the young man who enjoys pranks and fights in front of them.

When I come home to my family's house, right across the street from my grandparents, my mom and dad are happy. But soon enough the letter comes and I receive my assignment.

My two younger siblings, Avery and Zoe, are upset by all of this, of course. But I keep myself upbeat. I know they're both scared. Hell, so am I. But this feels right somehow.

To go to Afghanistan and protect ideas and liberty and justice. That is what I have decided to do.

So, early one morning, my grandparents, parents, and siblings all pack up and drive with me out to the base.

For me, it was a new beginning.

For my granddad, it was something else entirely.

It was the beginning of the end.

***

_ Kyle _

_Vietnam_.

It's a war that rocked the whole world. A small, relatively poor country, outnumbered and weak, having faced years of oppression and tyranny from the Chinese, French, and Japanese, facing off against the USA, the largest military and economic power in the world, a nation with prowess and a hunger for blood.

It should have been easy. They US should've had them within a week.

Except they didn't. For fifteen years, we fought a battle because we didn't understand our enemy.

Wars seldom have easy and clear endings. Hell, if the twentieth century taught us anything, it taught us that.

Or at least it should have.

Once again, I am watching my family being separated by war. My grandson, Jett Jacob Kirkland, is one of the few men in our country who is going to serve alongside US forces in Afghanistan.

All around us, many families are hugging their sons and daughters as they prepare to head inside to receive their gear and departure times. My youngest son hugs his oldest child, as does his wife. He hugs his younger brother and sister, and then turns towards us.

He hugs his grandma Mary first, and then comes to me. We hug tightly, and it's hard for me to say goodbye to him, knowing full well that this could be the last time I ever see him alive.

He can feel my worry, and speaks. "Don't worry, granddad. I'll be home again."

I hug him tighter. "You'd better, or I'll come and fight the Taliban myself to get you back."

He pulls back, a smile on his face. "You'll break a hip doing that!" But he quietly whispers to me. "I love you too, old man."

I want to say something to him, but Avery and Zoe demand his attention, and he turns with a laugh and hugs his siblings.

Jett and I not only have a very similar personality, but we resembled each other as well. Dark hair with silly cow licks, tan skin, green eyes, both constantly bandaged as children thanks to all the trouble we got ourselves in. I watch as he finally pulls away, and with one final goodbye, heads into the building I dread more than anything else in the world.

We get back in our cars and try to pretend life can continue on normally at this point.

At some point on the way back home, my wife Mary sighs. "Another young man goes off to war."

I keep my eyes locked on the road ahead as I respond. "Yes. Let's just hope this one comes home."

I can tell that she looks at me. After over forty years of marriage, you just know when they look at you.

Mary and I had just met a few months before I was drafted for Vietnam. She doesn't know what happened to me there, even to this day.

And I hope that while I am still breathing, she never does.

 

*****

 

_1969  
_

_South Vietnam_

We had only been in the country for a few days. Still unsure of our surroundings, still adjusting to the intense humidity that I was not very accustomed too, and still fresh faced when it came to war.

I was sitting in a bar, a local place recommended for soldiers with my best friend, Jacob Hudson, though we all just called him Jake. I had just cracked open a beer when Jake began to make a lot of noise.

"Whoa! Kyle, you gotta look at that girl!"

I glanced over towards the woman my best friend had pointed out. She was only about five feet tall, but a very pretty Vietnamese woman, with a big set of hips and what can only be described as a large brassiere.

I whistled at the sight of this scantily clad woman, as any man with eyes would if he lacked manners and decency, something I was quite short of after boot camp and the rumors we had already heard after a few days in this country. "Damn, I wish we could touch that!"

At that sentence, she looked over and winked. Jake grinned and winked back. "Probably can for a price. Want me to see what that price would be for two?"

I shook my head. "No thanks. You go on ahead, but I'm not that interested."

"Man, you gotta stop thinking about your girl back at home. We're in Vietnam now! She ain't gonna know every little thing you do!"

"Maybe I just don't believe in sharing the catch. Go on, go talk to her."

Jake rolled his eyes, but when he saw the woman begin to move away as she probably assumed we were too broke to even try, he rushed away after her. I sighed in relief and pulled out a picture of Mary.

I had to wonder if something was wrong with me as I stared at the photo she had given me when I told her I'd been drafted. Sure, I appreciated the beauty of a woman, but I had never particularly wanted to be with one. The only woman I had ever wanted to have sex with so far was Mary.

Well, maybe I just wasn't that interested in sex. Hell, maybe I ought to be thankful that I wasn't that interested in sex. Less chances to sin, and all the other religious yada-yada.

I had just tucked the picture back into my uniform when a voice rose above the other sounds of the bar. "You're new."

The tone was tired, yet interested. I turned to see the source of the voice. It was an American in USMC fatigues. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand as he leaned against the counter, the other set on his waist. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes, although they seemed a bit hazy from the pure expression of exhaustion on his face.

"Yep, fresh from 'Straya. You look like you've been here a while."

"A few months." The American responded, taking the seat Jake had occupied a few minutes earlier. "Enough to get used to certain things. Have you seen bodies yet?"

He said it so frankly that I must have been a little shocked, but I shrugged it off. "Not yet. But I'm expecting to see them soon. Viet Cong and NVA."

"You will." He grunted out as a response, and then looked at me again, his eyes slightly more aware now. "Sorry, guess I haven't introduced myself. The name's Alfred, Alfred F. Jones. You can call me Al."

"Kyle Kirkland. I also go by Ky."

We spent the rest of the time talking to each other, and the more we talked, the more those blue eyes shined, and the wider the smile on that face became.

"I hear you Australians are pretty good at jungle warfare..."

"Ever since we helped old England out during the Malayan Emergency."

Alfred laughed, and he had the most brilliant smile I had ever seen. It was almost enchanting, and I suddenly wondered if I could make him smile like that again. "Well then, good to know you guys are on our side! I'm sure you heard about how we had our asses handed to us last year during Tet."

I glanced at him as he said that. He seemed distant suddenly, as if he regretted speaking. "Lost someone in there?"

"A cousin. Close enough to him that it felt like losing a brother." He glanced away. "Sometimes when I order a second drink, I like to pretend we're back at home in New York, and that I'm ordering it for him."

"I'd do the same." I said, waving over the bartender, and was handed another beer.

We exchanged our ages. He was nineteen, although he seemed older at moments, and I was eighteen, although he claimed I seemed younger. Both fresh out of school, we must have made an interesting pair that late March day.

As we both left that night to head back to our camps, he began to give me advice.

"Oh, and you're going to want to try and pack as much dry gear as you can. I hear the monsoons are coming soon."

I nodded. "Don't worry, I got that covered. But thanks for the warning."

He smiled again, not as brightly as earlier, but enough to make me feel like a beam of sunshine had fallen on me. As we split off to head to our respective camps, I thought it was such a shame that I would probably never see him again.

But fate was either smiling or taunting me that day, when she plucked that thought from my mind.

***

The next few months reveal the hidden secrets and terrors of Vietnam to me in a way that I could never have been truly prepared for. The dark foliage making it seem like you were wandering around at night, traps wounding men left and right, bouncing Bettys taking limbs if not your life.

It was enough to drive a man mad, and I began to understand the expression on the American I had met. When I looked at my fellow countrymen, I saw it reflected on their faces.

Exhaustion.

And when Jake took a piece of shrapnel to the leg, I watched the chopper take him away, encouraging him to swear the whole way to keep from slipping into shock.

With Jake gone, I began to find more time alone with my thoughts, and as that happened, I often thought of the American I had met.

And part of the reason I thought of him so much was my dreams.

Sometimes the dreams were almost innocent in nature. I would see myself and Mary, walking along the streets in Canberra. We'd be talking, holding hands.

I'd look away from a moment, and when I looked back, the face that greeted me was no longer Mary's, but Alfred's. He was holding my hand, a bright smile across his face. No matter what, I somehow felt safe as his hand held mine, and couldn't bear the thought of pulling away from him.

He'd say something about Vietnam, and somehow convey my deepest feelings into words I just couldn't speak. I'd ask him questions, and he'd answer them.

I don't even remember most of what we talked about in these dreams. Sometimes it felt more like I was conversing with myself, but my brain had chosen Alfred to represent this other side of me, one I couldn't give voice too.

Which, in truth, it had. I mean, when I woke up in the morning, Alfred was nowhere nearby. He was just a pleasant memory from before this war had really begun for me.

But the other dreams... They scared me. In a way I could never tell anyone.

They weren't nightmares. Hell, they were far from it. Some of my comrades might have willingly traded their nightmares for my dreams.

It would begin simply enough. I was back home in 'Straya, and Mary was in my room with me.

Soon enough, I had sweet talked her into laying on the bed. I'd kiss her, and the dream would continue.

But at some point during the dream, her face would change, and instead of Mary calling my name out as her back arched in pleasure, it was another.

I would look up and see Alfred.

My eyes would snap open, the dream ending abruptly. I was unsure why my subconscious hated me so much, to leave me hard in my pants and longing after someone I could never have.

As the days passed, I tried to push away the revelations my subconscious wanted me to realize.

That word it wanted me to utter was wrong. It was the name of an illness, one I could never admit to having unless I wished to be exiled from society.

I may have been interested in Mary, but I was beginning to realize that she really was the only girl I had ever even thought to pursue.

I had always had so many male friends. And the few female friends I had, well, even when they expressed interest to me, I was never particularly interested back.

Perhaps I hadn't realized that I wanted more than friendship from my male friends.

Perhaps I had been actually aware of my... condition... much longer than I thought.

***

"Oi, Kirkland! We got a tunnel here!"

I dropped all my gear except pistol and ammo, checking the load before running forward. The rains had subsided just for a little while, and we had taken some fire earlier this morning. No losses to Charlie, thankfully, but it was still scary to realize we had stumbled into them without even realizing it.

To a certain extent, our fear had worn off now. We were simply trying to survive, and had spent the greater part of the last hour searching for the entrance.

One which we had finally found.

As the skinniest man in my group, I was the tunnel rat. Jake had crawled behind me at one point, but now I went in solo. A dangerous mission, but all men die someday. I yanked off my t-shirt and crawled in.

After about fifteen minutes inside, and the only sign of the Vietnamese I found was a dead man and rotting rice, I managed to turn myself around and crawl back out. The others looked at me with worry in their eyes.

"Nothing but one dead Charlie here. Just gotta destroy this place."

As we searched for explosive charges to destroy the tunnel, I was allowed to rest. I was gulping at some water when I heard one of our men shout.

"Identify yourselves!"

Instantly, we were all alert, rifles and pistols lifted and one or two grenades raised, ready to have the pin pulled and be thrown any second.

"United States Marines!" Came a shout in an obviously American voice, and we all relaxed a little. The man who had called out for identification responded.

"Royal Australian Regiment."

The men emerged from around us. I glanced at them quickly, trying to get my breath back still. A voice of command called out. "That tunnel... Is it cleared?"

I stood. "Yes sir. We're just preparing to destroy it."

He nodded, and seeing my chest covered in dirt, clearly realized I was a tunnel rat. "We engaged Charlie earlier this morning on the other side of the hill, heard some fire on this side. We assume it was you."

Our sergeant nodded. "We caught them attempting to retreat this way. We assume this was the location they were attempting to reach. Are any of your men injured?"

"One, but not badly."

"There's a friendly village nearby, not too far out from a hospital. We can take you there as soon as the tunnel is destroyed."

A nod. "Mind if we help out? Or do you have more than one tunnel rat?"

"If you want to send another boy in, feel free. But he hauls his own weight."

Another nod, then a shout. "Jones, up here!"

I was shocked when a familiar face appeared, and the American stood there in a similar state for a moment before giving me a huge grin. "Holy shit! Didn't think I'd see you again, Kyle."

"I can say the same, Alfred." I responded, trying to remember how to form words with my mouth.

"You two gonna keep squawking or get to work?!" Someone shouted.

Grabbing our limited gear, I crawled into the tunnel first, and we lined the place with explosives.

Despite the size I thought the American had when I had first seen him, he seemed smaller in the tunnels, but we finished our job and crawled back out.

Once everyone was at a safe distance, we blew up the tunnel, and after a round of congratulations, we picked up our shirts and headed off.

Alfred and I fell into line next to each other, casually chatting.

"I've been keeping you in my thoughts, Aussie. When I first saw you, I didn't think you'd be tough enough to deal with Vietnam."

I felt a blush rising to my cheeks as he said that, and quickly tried to brush it off with a smart remark. "I'm tougher than you think, Yank! Just because a man has three little sisters and no brothers doesn't mean he can't roll with the punches!"

He laughed, and I felt my blush abating, much to my relief.

He asked about Jake, although he didn't remember his name. "How's your friend, the one who was with you at the bar?"

"Took a piece of metal to the leg, nearly lost it. The infection was so nasty they had to send him home. Hasn't lost the leg, but he's probably wishing he had."

"Gangrene?"

"Plus blood poisoning. But he'll be better soon enough."

We didn't say much after that for a while. The mood had fallen.

We reached the village, and after checking on the locals, continued towards the hospital. After the wounded American was left there, we went back to the town, and to the small bar.

The Americans almost shouted in delight when they saw the newspapers.

"They're about a month old..." I said as Alfred hurriedly snatched one from the pile. But it was clear he didn't care as he settled into a seat at the tiny bar.

"Christ, I haven't had any news from home for so long besides what my parents write in their letters, and that's not a lot!"

As he threw open the paper, I glanced up for a moment, and then, waving down the bartender, ordered two glasses of whiskey.

Alfred blinked in surprise as I set one down in front of him. He glanced up to see me drinking the other one. "I thought you were a beer person."

"Well, I remembered what you said about your cousin, and my friend Jake is gone, so I figured we could drink for both of them tonight."

Alfred paused for a moment, and then with a nod, called over the bartender and ordered two beers.

We each drank to our living friends and fallen friends.

"To Matthew Williams."

"To Jacob Hudson."

Neither of us was called out for a watch.

Alfred eventually opened his paper back up and continued reading. He suddenly grimaced. "There's been riots in New York."

"Huh. Where?"

"Some place called the Stonewall Inn."

"That a place you're familiar with? Being from New York and all?" I asked curiously.

He paused before responding, and his voice almost seemed strained. "Yeah, I've heard of it. They say it's run by the mob, and police raids are regular. Pretty corrupt and definitely not a safe place to enjoy a drink."

"Yeah. I wouldn't want to fuck around with the mob either." I said to no one in particular.

He was about to respond when someone called his name. "Jones, get out here!"

"Yes sir!" He shouted, slamming down the paper and rushing away.

As he headed over to the man, I picked up the paper, skimming along until I found the article he must have been reading. I began to read it myself.

The first sentence froze me to my very core.

_The Stonewall Inn, a notorious bar for homosexuals and transsexuals..._

I stopped, and somehow managed to reread the sentence over and over.

_The Stonewall Inn, a notorious bar for homosexuals and transsexuals...  
_

_The Stonewall Inn, a notorious bar for homosexuals...  
_

_...a notorious bar for homosexuals...  
_

_...for homosexuals..._

I set down the paper and glanced towards the door. Alfred was standing there, talking to one of his commanding officers. I thought about standing up and going over there, but shook my head, reaching for my beer instead.

Finally, after about another minute that felt like years to feel paralyzed, Alfred came back. He looked like someone had just told him it was Christmas.

"Our sergeant and yours decided to head back to the nearest base for some R&R! We're moving out tomorrow for a week of leave in the city!"

I laughed in delight, although I could almost hear the strain in my voice. He ordered another drink, going back to the paper. I glanced at him for moment.

A thought I had been trying to push aside for months came to the surface as I looked at him. With his golden hair and bright blue eyes, he looked a lot like Mary. He even had a slight tan to his skin, not as much as I did, but still, it was almost to the point that he could have been from Oz and I would've believed it.

I shook my head suddenly, trying to shake the unwelcome image that had appeared from my head. _Fuckin' hell, Ky, pull yourself together!_

"Kyle, are you okay?"

I glanced up to see blue eyes locked onto mine with concern. I nodded, avoiding the foul taste in my mouth at having to lie to him. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."

He seemed to detect my dishonesty, and opened his mouth to question me, but then he closed it, as if he had thought better of his question.

And I held my tongue as he tried to give me a half hearted smile, the concern evident behind his eyes.

***

As we marched towards the city after checking in at the hospital, Alfred and I talked.

"Oh, I'm gonna get a hotel room and take a nice _long_ shower." Alfred said as we walked towards the city. Any man that could walk was going."

"Yeah. It's going to be nice to wash Vietnam off of our skin." I said as I rolled my shoulders. "Get a properly cold beer for once instead of barely chilled..."

Alfred grinned. "Yeah!"

As we laughed on our way into the city, he suddenly looked at me with the biggest smile on his face, and in that split second our eyes connected, I felt my entire face flush. I didn't have time to hide it.

He paused for a moment, almost confused, and I turned away, looking down at the ground. _Thanks brain for what just happened!_

After glancing around to make sure no one was near us, I spoke. "So I read that article on the Stonewall Inn..."

When I finally looked up again, my companion's face had visibly dimmed. His smile had been replaced by a tight lipped frown. "Oh."

We walked in silence. I tried to say something, but it all sounded wrong. Finally, I found my courage and said it anyways.

"Doesn't matter to me. I know there are a few places in Sydney like that."

He glanced at me sideways, and we took a moment to reevaluate each other. He spoke his next words softly.

"Ever visit any of those places in Sydney?"

"No, I... never really thought about it. Do you... Visit places like-"

"Once. Wasn't really my kinda place, though, you know? Too much drinking." He said swiftly. We glanced at each other again. He seemed to have almost gone rigid, as if he expected me to turn on him.

I took a deep breath before speaking a dangerous thought. One that would get us both dishonorably discharged if anyone else ever found out.

"Do you want to... share a hotel room?"

He seemed shocked, but then a small smile crossed his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but he realized I wasn't about to turn him in.

"Yeah. Sure thing."

***

We went out after we found a room and bought food at a cheap cafe. We smoked cheap cigarettes and drank cold booze.

We talked for hours.

I asked about his life in New York. He told me about his family, showing me a picture, pointing out the face of a young boy who looked a lot like him.

"That's my cousin Matthew. He was the only person in my family I thought I could trust. He was the one we lost in Tet."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded, and then talked about how much he had liked California after he went to Camp Pendleton. His hopes to leave New York for California reminded me of my own hopes to leave Canberra for Sydney, and so we talked about that.

I told him about my family and my three little sisters. Eventually I showed him my photo of Mary.

When he saw the photo of her, he looked at me funny. "You like a girl, yet you also-?"

"I... I like her, and I think I could have a family with her... But she's the only girl I've ever been interested in."

"You ever been interested in...?"

"I was never really interested at all until Mary. And, well, you..."

We left a lot of sentences to be filled in by the other, dancing around each other like two shy people on their first date. Perhaps it was better that way.

He told me he'd been with one person before, back home in New York, before he left. But he doubted he'd ever see him again. A few days later, we would learn he was right when we checked an Army casualty list and found that man's name.

As the sun sank into the horizon, we slipped back to the hotel. We'd booked a room with two beds to keep up appearances. If anyone asked, we'd say we were low on money, and thus decided to be frugal and share.

Before we even thought about anything else, however, we showered.

I went first. Hot water slowly peeled away the thick layers of dirt I was starting to get used too after so long in the jungles. I almost felt more naked putting a clean shirt on dry, clean skin than I had when I was actually naked. Once I was dressed in a pair of shorts and a shirt, I stepped out of the bathroom and nodded to Alfred. "I left you some towels, but you'd better hurry."

Alfred mumbled his thanks and then disappeared into the bathroom. I looked at my picture of Mary as I heard the water turn back on.

_You can still say no. He's not going to do anything._

But I knew I couldn't. Because this idea... The prospect of holding him close... Watching his chest rise and fall... Feeling his lips against mine...

_God, I'm sorry. I'm a sinner._

I wanted him more than I had ever wanted Mary.

And when I heard the water turn off, I tucked the photo into my pack. I took a deep breath, and spoke aloud.

"Jake was right. We're in Vietnam now. She ain't gonna know every little thing you do."

***

Alfred stepped out in nothing more than a pair of shorts, hair still damp. He checked the door to the room, already locked, and then glanced at the curtains, already drawn.

We looked at each other for a while, and then he gestured towards the beds. "Wanna push them together?"

We did, lifting them up. Beds now together, I sat down, and so did he.

Gold hair still dripping, blue eyes gazing at me, still unsure how to proceed. I wonder if the worry in his eyes was reflected back in my own.

Finally, he lifted a hand. Fingers brushed against each other, and we clasped hands together. Gazing into his eyes, I spoke.

"Do you think that God considers us sinners for this?"

He paused, and then spoke carefully. "God made us this way. I think he honestly doesn't care. Why else would he make us like this?"

I nodded, trying to take a few deep breaths. Suddenly, I realized he was leaning closer.

He pressed his forehead to mine, green eyes meeting blue, and I could hear my heart racing in my chest, feel every breath of air he breathed racing across my skin.

"Kyle, we don't have to do this."

I closed my eyes, and felt my teeth sink into my lips. Every movement, every moment of this, was small. Calculated.

I opened my eyes, meeting his again, and then leaned forward more, capturing his lips with mine.

When I had kissed Mary for the first time before leaving home, the kiss had been warm and soft. Like eating a cookie fresh from the oven. It has been sweet and wonderful, but it hadn't been anything particularly special.

This kiss was the opposite. Hot, like pressing your lips to a flame. But this flame, instead of burning me, made me aware of so many sensations. Every sense, especially touch, was hyper aware of his presence. I finally moved my other hand to the back of his head, and ran my fingers through those soft damp strands of gold.

He pulled his fingers out of mine, one of his hands still supporting his weight, and gently brushed his fingertips up and down my arm, finally settling on my shoulder and pulling me closer still, until our upper bodies were touching, only my shirt separating me from the bare skin of his chest.

There was a familiar pooling sensation in my stomach, a buildup of heat. I tried to ignore it when suddenly his grip on my shoulder tightened. I let out a soft protest, and he pulled away.

The loss of his lips on mine startled me, and his face showed concern at my protest.

"Don't squeeze so tightly, okay?" I muttered.

He nodded, a soft smile coming back to his lips.

Then he glanced down.

My shirt and shorts were no hiding place for my erection. I looked away as Alfred glanced back up at me, feeling the heat pooling not only in my groin but in my cheeks. He laughed affectionately, pressing a kiss to the reddened skin, and then spoke.

"Lay down."

I did, unsure what he was going to do. He pressed his lips back to mine, and I closed my eyes for a few moments, trying not to focus on anything other than my breathing and his lips against mine.

Until a hand slipped past the waistband of my shorts and gripped my erection.

I nearly sent my head flying back into the headboard, startling both of us, and then I felt myself turn scarlet from head to toe. "Fucking hell..." I groaned, biting my lip to hold back a sound.

Seeing I was unhurt, he laughed softly. "It's okay. If you don't like anything, tell me. Do you want me to continue?"

I closed my eyes, managing to nod. He pulled off my shorts, and I tried not to shiver as he placed his hand there again, setting a slow pace.

He pressed his lips back to mine, and his other hand ran underneath my shirt, brushing over nipples and making small circles around them, widening out and then returning to them and pinching. At the same time, his other hand moved faster, building up a steady rhythm and becoming tighter, until I felt the intense heat pooling in my stomach.

"Al..." I managed to breath out, and he pulled away a little. "I'm gonna..."

"I know." He whispered, pressing another kiss to my lips, and brushing a calloused thumb over the tip.

And I came undone in his hands. Falling back into the bed, I heard myself whisper. "Holy hell..."

He smiled, pressing close to me and pulling off my shirt before I made too much of a mess of it. Laying there with him, now completely naked, I gazed at him for a long moment.

He held me close, seeming happy, and in that moment, I knew something.

This was the only person I ever wanted to hold me like this again.

I pressed my chest to his, breathing in his scent. I wanted to remember this moment for the rest of my life.

He smelled like fresh cut hay and citrus trees, with the slightest hint of cigarettes. His skin was the most beautiful light bronze, his hair the softest gold I ever had the privilege to touch, his eyes like the waters off the famous barrier reef.

In that moment, I knew he was doing the same thing to me. After resting for a while longer, I made the next move.

I brought my lips to his, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips. I ran a hand along his chest, and felt him roll his hips against mine.

I leaned back and pulled off his shorts. He was as hard as I had been, and when I brushed my hand against him, he let out a noise of pleasure. But when I started to wrap my hand around him, he shook his head.

I understood what neither of us could say. He took my hand and began to suck on the digits, until I dragged them out of his mouth, now coated in a heavy layer of saliva.

I pressed my mouth back to his as I cautiously slid the first finger in. His body tensed for a second, and then relaxed.

His hands reached up and began to move up and down my back, over my chest, fingertips gently brushing against anything they could reach. I could feel a soft heat returning to my lower body. I wished I could do the same for him, except I was supporting my weight with one hand and getting him ready for sex with the other, but Alfred didn't seem to care.

I slid in the second finger, and he moaned. "Ky..."

Just the sound of my name sliding past those lips made my erection return completely. I pulled my lips from his to whisper back. "Al..."

He was blushing now, and my face was probably flushed in the dark as well, but in that moment, I didn't give a single flying fuck. If the NVA had knocked down our door, I'm not sure I could have dragged myself away from Alfred long enough to even grab a pistol.

The third finger slid in, and for a moment, we just gazed at each other, him trying not to squirm beneath me, and me trying to recall everything I could about this moment. I wanted to be able to remember every second of it with crystal clarity.

I pressed my lips to his again as I moved my fingers until I brushed against a spot that had him calling out my name.

It sounded exactly like it had in my dreams.

I pulled my fingers out, wiping them on a towel, and then pressing myself against his entrance. "Alfred..."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I softly spoke.

"I think I love you..."

We were in Vietnam.

He gazed at me a moment, a twenty year old Marine and an eighteen year old Australian, but he smiled, raising a hand up to cup my cheek.

"I love you too."

I pushed inside. He bit his lip for a few seconds, and then I pressed mine against his once more.

We were still for a few moments before I made a slow movement, pulling out a little and slowly pushing back in.

Everything was slow. The way his hand moved to brush my cow licks out of my face, the way I drug my hand down his chest. The way our hips moved against each other until he was crying out my name in pleasure as I hit the spot that drove him wild. The way my hand clasped his, green eyes meeting blue when we both finally came.

We clung to each other that night, like we were the only two people left alive on this earth, whispering our names to each other along with a single phrase.

"Kyle..."

"Alfred..."

"I love you..."

"I love you too..."

***

We stayed together for the rest of the time our commanders let us stay in the city. As we walked around, we talked about the future.

Specifically, our future.

"You should write me when you get home. I'll be headed out to California. We can get a place to live there. I've heard San Francisco is a good place."

"I'll try. I don't think I can ever tell my family, though. At least, not my parents. My sisters might be okay."

He nodded. "I know I won't ever be able to tell mine."

We were laying in bed, just having finished another round of lovemaking. I finally nodded. "Alright, San Francisco it is. I'll write you from Canberra, and you can send me the address once you find a place."

He smiled, tightening his grip on my hand. "You'll end up breaking poor Mary's heart. You heartbreaker."

"She'll get over me. Besides, I bet you got called the same when you turned down all the girls who thought you must be quite the catch." I said.

"Oh yeah. Let's see. There was Ashley, Brenda, Cecilia-" He said, grinning before I even shoved him. We play fought for a few minutes, until we curled up again, smiling at each other.

But eventually the topic turned more serious.

"Do you think we'll survive this war?" I asked. Alfred sighed.

"I sure hope so. I want to see you again."

I nodded. "We should get some photos of us. Together."

Alfred grinned. "I know exactly which one I want. You, asleep, with the blanket barely coming up to your waist, chin down like so..."

"Hey, appropriate photos! We don't need to scar our families if they ever find it!"

But Alfred was laughing, so I laughed too.

"Alright." He said, wiping a small tear from his eye. "Let's get a pair of photos tomorrow before we head back to the base."

***

We each had a photo in hand. We had arms slung around each other's shoulders, big grins in place like we each knew a secret. It was a good photo. Anyone who found it would have simply thought we were two friends.

There was a simple reason to hold onto it. If one of us somehow didn't make it home, we'd have something of the other to hang onto. As we each held a copy, we both prayed it wouldn't be the last thing the two of us would share.

When we arrived back at the base, we said our final goodbyes to the others. While the Marines marched one way, we marched the other. Each night I pulled out the photo and gazed at it.

A few weeks after our departure, I got shot in the right shoulder moments after crawling into a tunnel, managing to pull myself out moments before the others tossed in a grenade. My right shoulder was awfully fucked up, and the blast of the explosion didn't help. They moved me out of combat in an American helicopter. The whole way, I set my left hand over the breast pocket of my shirt, forcing myself to stay awake with memories of my nights with Alfred. After landing in the hospital, they rushed me into surgery, and I allowed myself to rest, eventually slipping into unconsciousness.

I spent weeks healing up. There was an infection to manage, and then physical therapy.

While I was there, a Marine was brought in, and I recognized him from Alfred's group. I eagerly headed over to his bed once he was out of surgery, waiting for him to wake up.

When he did, he glanced at me warily. "You're Alfred's Australian friend, right?"

I nodded. "How is he?"

The man glanced away.

My heart shattered in my chest.

"He pushed a friend out of the way of a bouncing Betty. Blew off his nearest leg. They had to take him out via helicopter."

I said nothing. He looked at me with pity before he continued with his tale.

"They said it hit the femoral artery. Tried to amputate what was left of his leg, but it was too late by the time he got to the hospital. I'm sorry."

I nodded, thanked the man, and somehow managed to stumble back to my bunk.

And when they handed me my medical discharge papers the next day, I said nothing as I packed my bags and prepared to head home.

***

My parents were happy to have me home, of course, as were my younger sisters. I tried to smile and appear strong for them, but I struggled every day.

I hadn't even told Mary I was back yet. I felt like my heart had been torn from it's chest and left behind in Vietnam.

Every day I sat in my room, curtains drawn, bent over the desk, trying to think of what to write. So many times I picked up the pencil and pressed it to the paper.

But how could I write to a family I had never met, tell them I was sorry for the loss of two children? How could I tell them the full extent of my sorrow without disgracing the memory of one of them? Every day I tried, and every day I failed.

The day my parents walked in on me weeping on my desk was the day they decided drastic action needed to be taken.

They called Mary, and the next morning, she came over. My sisters got me dressed, fed, and out onto the front porch, where she was talking with my parents.

My mom turned, a soft smile on her face. "Kyle. We thought you and Mary might like to take a walk."

I said nothing as I walked over towards her. She smiled softly, and I dropped my head, looking at my feet.

I pretended not to hear what my father said. Mary took my left hand, and as we stepped off the porch, she began to talk.

I was practically mute as we walked, but she didn't care. My parents had just told her to talk. She didn't ask for a response other than the occasional yes or no head shake when she asked if I wanted food or water, or if I needed to rest for a while.

She told me how much she had missed me all those months, how happy she was I had made it home.

At the end of the day, we sat on a park bench. As she sat next to me, I finally leaned over, setting my head on her shoulder.

She fell quiet, and then reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. Tears dripped down my face in silence, and she wrapped her arms around me, shushing me when I began to shake.

No more words needed to be said. She knew I had lost someone important.

It took a few more weeks, but I began to open the curtains and soon, I knew I had to pick up the pieces.

Mary was with me as I did. I never told her how close I had been to the man we simply referred to as "our American friend". But she knew I had been very close to him, and felt his loss deeply.

From then on, we built a life on what happened next. We didn't look to the past, only to the future.

We got married, moved away from Canberra to Sydney, and bought a small place with a couple of rooms. By 1972, I held my oldest daughter in my arms. Her name was Elizabeth Marie. She had her mother's hair and my eyes.

After that came the rest of our family.

Elizabeth was followed by Ashley Lynn and Grant Matthew, the twins, in 1974. And in 1976, we welcomed our last child into the family.

Kyle Alfred.

I never told Mary why I insisted on the middle name the way I did, but when I glanced at the photo that hung on our wall, I think she realized Alfred was the name of our American friend. So in 1976, I held my youngest son and smiled as he looked at me with his mother's blue eyes.

Eyes only a shade off from what they would have been if Alfred had been his father.

I watched my children grow up. I laughed with them, cried with them, scolded them, and loved them.

Several years later, Kyle Alfred called Mary and I to the hospital, where he and his girlfriend had just had their first child. He handed him to me.

"We've named him Jett Jacob."

I smiled at my grandson. "Hey, Jett."

And the tiny infant somehow managed to smile back.

 

*****

 

_Jett _

After a few months in Afghanistan, having a chance to Skype home was a miracle.

I looked over at my friend. "I'm getting to call home tomorrow."

He smiles at me. "Good."

The guy is an American. Army. His name is Alfred Jones. We all just call him Alfie.

He lights up a cigarette and I sigh. "Those will kill you, you know."

"Yeah. But for now, it's a distraction."

I shake my head. "There's another way to be distracted."

He laughs, taking a drag on the cigarette. "Is there no Australian version of Don't Ask, Don't Tell?"

"Well, it would help if you weren't such a raging homosexual."

"Bisexual, Kirkland. Get your sexualities straight."

"Whichever it is, you won't be getting a kiss from me until you scrub your teeth white." I respond, earning a sad face in response. I laughed, and leaned back into him.

"I hope we both make it out of this war."

He nods. "My mom and grandpa will love you. Your family?"

I sigh. "My siblings won't care, and I suspect my parents would keep their mouths shut. It's my grandparents I worry about."

He sighed, and then turned, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Well, we'll tell them when you're ready."

I smiled, and then I smell the smoke. "Ugh, you reek. Go shower."

"Fuck you too, Jett!"

I slip inside the barracks and settle in for the night.

***

_ Kyle _

Avery and Zoe come running up as I stand in the garden. "Granddad! Come on inside! Jett's on Skype right now!"

I roll my eyes. "Skype? What's that?!"

Avery just stares in disbelief, but Zoe laughs. "You know what Skype is, Granddad! We set up one for you and grandma, and you use it to talk to Aunt Ashley all the time!"

I nod, thinking of my daughter in Indonesia. But I follow the kids inside. Mary is already seated by the computer, and I join her. "Hello Jett! How's the weather?"

Jett looks like he's just run a marathon. "Hot as hell, but I'll get used to it. Good to see you again, Granddad. Mom and dad said you had some cancer on your nose again?"

"Just the usual piece of skin." I say, pointing to the bandage that has become almost a part of my face, covering the skin over the bridge of my nose. "And that's why you'd better be wearing sunscreen, young man!" I say, although he's currently indoors, and besides, his mother made sure he and all his siblings were slathered in it every second of their waking lives, especially since Avery took after her, with much paler skin.

We talk for a while, and then I hear some shouting in the background. Jett turns towards someone offscreen. "Hey Alfie! Come say hi to my family!"

A young man appears on the screen, wearing US army fatigues. He waves as he opens a beer. "Hello, Kirkland family!"

My heart nearly stops. After so long... _Over forty years..._

He has the same face shape, glasses, and the same stupid cowlick. His name even reads "Jones", but his hair is a dark reddish brown, his eyes are almost the color of chocolate, and his skin is darker as well. But the differences in complexion cannot hide the similarities.

Jett sees the look on my face. "Granddad, you okay?"

"Your friend... Can I speak to him for a moment?"

"Alfie, come back over here!" Jett calls as his friend has disappeared offscreen. He leans back in, and I find my voice to speak.

"I'm sorry, young man, but you remind me of someone I fought with in Vietnam. Could you tell me your name?"

"Alfred Matthew Jones, sir,but everyone calls me Alfie. I'm named after my grandfather and his cousin-"

"Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams, US Marine Corps." I say before he can. Jett glances at me in confusion, as do my other grandchildren. Mary stares at well, but I can see she is quickly connecting the pieces she has. "I was told he died during the war."

"Nope, he's still alive and kicking. I can give you an address and a phone number if you want to reach him."

I nod, and Avery fetches me a piece of paper and a pencil. I write down the address and phone number. After that, Alfie disappears. We talk to Jett until he has to leave, and then as Mary takes the grandkids out for a walk, I head into the kitchen.

I cautiously dial the number into my cell phone. It should be seven in the evening in California.

Three rings, and then the phone is answered. "Hello?" A woman says.

_He has a grandson. Perhaps this is his wife?_

"Hello, I'm calling for an Alfred F. Jones."

"Hold on a moment." I hear her say, and then she calls out. "Dad, someone's on the phone for you!"

There's the sound of movement, and then an older voice answers. "Hello, Alfred F. Jones speaking."

And with a rush of emotions I haven't felt in years, I respond.

"Hey Alfred. It's Kyle. Kyle Kirkland."

***

My flight is booked, my luggage packed. Mary stands over it all, looking unhappy.

"You're not as young as you once were, Kyle. Are you sure you want to travel alone?"

I nod. "Mary, I thought he was dead all these years. I never tried to reach out to his family. I... I need to do this alone."

She sighs. "All these years I've been sharing you with a ghost. I guess if visiting our American friend can make you smile again... Be safe, Kyle."

They send me off.

Several hours later, including a brief stop in Hawaii, I land in the John Wayne Airport, California.

A woman in her late thirties to early forties holds up a sign with my name, and I approach. "Amanda Jones?"

I can see a lot of her son in her. She has the same reddish brown hair and darker skin, but she has blue eyes, the same shade as the ones I fell into so long ago. She smiles as she looks at me. "You must be Kyle Kirkland. My dad is sorry he couldn't be here to pick you up, but he had a doctor's appointment to go too, and he couldn't miss it. We'll be picking him up on the way to our house."

I nod as she helps me into my seat in the van. I glance around and instantly notice the area for holding the wheelchair. She sees where my gaze wanders. "He lost a leg in Vietnam. Above the knee. We only used to use the wheelchair occasionally, but he needs it more often now."

I nod, and we take off into the infamous LA traffic. After what feels like hours of driving, we stop outside a small clinic.

Amanda turns. "Look, I kinda lied to my dad about your arrival time. He's been waiting to see this specialist for months, and if I had told him your real arrival time, he would have cancelled the appointment. So he doesn't know you're here yet. Do you think you could maybe stay out here by the van until I get him out here, so you can surprise him?"

I nod and give her a smile. "After forty years, I can wait a few more minutes."

She thanks me and I stand beside the red wheelchair van.

About two minutes later, she comes out with Alfred, who is all smiles and sunshine even after forty years. "The doc says everything looks good, Mandy. So, Kyle's flight lands in an hour, right? We'd better get moving."

She smiles. "Yeah, about that dad..."

I take this as my cue, and step out from behind the van, waving.

Alfred freezes in place, and then a happy sob erupts from his chest. He rushes over to my side in his chair, and I lean down and hug him.

"Jesus Christ..." He whispers, and his voice is still as wonderful as it was all those years ago. "You're actually here."

Amanda stands back and smiles as we stand there for close to an hour, just talking. Two Vietnam vets who never thought that they'd see each other again, glad to be reunited in peace.

When we finally get into the car, I sit in the seat next to the wheelchair area. He smiles so much that I feel like the sun is sitting next to me.

***

That night, Amanda tells me she knows.

"Dad confessed that he was gay a few years ago, when my son came out as bisexual. So, don't feel like you need to hide anything from me."

I didn't realize how tense I was until she said that, and I relaxed. "Thank you, Amanda."

She nods as Alfred comes back. When he reaches for my hand, I smile and let him take it.

After dinner, Alfred shows me around the house. It had one floor, two porches, and a small sunroom.

"I built this with my wife, Jackie. She was a wonderful woman, but honestly... I loved her because she looked like you."

And she did. Even I was shocked by the resemblance between me and the woman Alfred had married. Dark tan skin, green eyes, brown hair, although hers was brown red whereas mine was brown black.

"She died of breast cancer shortly after Alfie was born. Amanda was our only child. Complications with the pregnancy. But Jackie never let anything slow her down. She lived life vibrantly."

As we talked, I learned Amanda was a single mother. Alfie's father had been her high school sweetheart. He had been out of the picture for years, only occasionally bothering to pay child support. Alfie was her only child, and she loved him fiercely.

"She hates him being in Afghanistan. Sometimes she asks me what it's like. I don't remember much of it anymore, honestly. I remember the first man I shot. I remember getting my leg blown off. I remember you."

I sigh as I lean against him. "I thought you were gone. All these years... We could have been together."

"The past is behind us, Kyle. As much as I love you... I wouldn't trade my daughter for you."

I nod. "I know. I just wish we could have found out that the other was still alive sooner."

He nods, and we continue talking.

I show him photos of my family. He laughs when I tell him how many kids I had. "Four! And all older than my Amanda! You sure got real busy real quick, Kyle!"

He sighs when he hears the middle names of my boys, and when I tell him Grant works as a doctor, he sighs again, almost fondly this time.

And when he sees a photo of Jett in his fatigues, his sigh is somewhere between sorrow and happiness. "He's you, Kyle."

We talk about health. I explain my battle with cancer a few years ago. He talks about his right knee replacement and issues with the prosthetic leg.

And between it all, we smile and we talk, and at night, after he removes his left leg, we crawl into bed together.

The lovemaking is harder for us now, but no less passionate. Each night, before we fall asleep, we kiss and cuddle. We're both too old for staying up all night as we once did, reveling in each other's body.

One morning, I awake to the click of a camera.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I slowly open my eyes and realize the blanket is down around my waist.

"Got the photo that I've wanted for the last forty years." He says with a smile, showing me a photo of my sleeping face.

I groan. "You gotta be kidding me. You still remember that conversation?"

"Don't you?" He says with a soft smile.

"Touché." I mutter, yawning. "Alright, let's get going."

We spend three weeks together. Three wonderful weeks.

And at the end of it all, I look at Alfred Franklin Jones before I head through airport security and kiss him one last time.

"I love you." He says. "Always have, and I always will."

"I love you too." I respond, hugging him as tightly as I can.

I pass through security, wave goodbye, and head for my flight.

In the hours it takes to reach home, I pull out the iPad my grandchildren got me as a birthday present and begin to type out my story.

_Our story._

I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Alfred. The return of the cancer was more serious than just my nose. About a year ago, they told me I'd be lucky to make it two years. They asked if I wanted to pursue treatments again.

I told them no. The Agent Orange did a number on all of us, and I can't say my years of smoking afterwards helped. Something told me that it was my time to go. And I wanted to end my life on my terms, not the terms of some disease.

Fate decided to bring us together one last time before she tore us apart forever.

I wanted to tell the world our story.

I'm so sorry this is my goodbye to you, Alfred. Please forgive me.

And wherever our God sends me, I'll be waiting for you, whether it be heaven or hell.

I love you, Alfred.

Please forgive me.

***

_ Jett _

I get off the phone, feeling detached from the world.

My parents just called from home in Sydney. My granddad committed suicide last night. He left a note. The cancer had come back. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, not the terms of the illness.

I'm numb to the other thing he had apparently written in his note.

Alfie sees me sitting and comes over. "Jett, you okay?"

"No." I mutter. "My... My granddad is dead."

He blinks in shock. I set my face in my hands. "It was the cancer. He committed suicide. And he left a note."

He takes my hands, and I look up at him.

"Alfie... He wrote in the note... He wrote he was gay."

Alfie paused, and then looked at my hands, curling his into mine. "Yeah. I knew."

I look up at him in shock and confusion. "Huh?"

Alfie doesn't meet my eyes as he talks. "My grandpa had a photo of himself and an Australian solider on the wall. My whole life, I gazed at that man, not knowing who he was. When I was seventeen, my mom caught me messing around with a boy. She was just upset because of the sex. But I was afraid of what grandpa would say since it was his house. She hauled us downstairs, and my grandpa picked that photo off the wall. He sent the other boy home, and then handed me the photo. He said 'Don't feel like you need to keep your sexuality a secret in this home, Alfie. You're not the only queer who lives here.' My mom was so surprised. She wouldn't talk to him for a month afterwards. Eventually, she moved on. But the man in the photo... He looked just like you, Jett. And when I asked my grandpa his name, he told me it was Kyle David Kirkland."

He finally looked up and sighed. "I knew who you were the moment I heard your granddad's name was Kyle."

I was shaking, and he looked up at me in fear, as if he was afraid I would yell at him.

I stood up and stumbled over to my bunk, and moments later, under the heavy weight of sorrow, I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

***

_ Alfred _

The invitation to the funeral comes. The handwriting is familiar. The handwriting is yours.

You knew you were dying. You arranged everything in secret. The day of your funeral, what would happen to your remains.

Amanda sees my reaction. She has to take the letter from me as I crumple up on my bed, sobbing my weary heart out for you.

My life is a mess.

We book the flights. I call Alfie over Skype. I tell him that you, the man I told him I loved, had died.

He told me he knew. He said Jett was trying to get some leave to come to the funeral.

And then he tells me he knew that Jett was your grandson the moment they met.

Why didn't he tell me?

We arrive in Sydney. Your youngest boy picks up up from the airport.

Oh, Kyle, not only does he have our names, but he looks so much like you.

When we arrive, Mary knows. You left a copy of our story with her.

She isn't happy.

She's livid, in fact. Calls me a faggot. Tries to expel me from the property despite you asking I be allowed to attend the funeral. Luckily, your oldest boy intervenes.

She's angry that you dictate what will happen to your ashes. Angry that they are to go to me.

You leave her everything else. The house, the money, your story.

You leave her with everything except yourself.

And that you give to me.

The service is beautiful. Jett is able to get the leave. All of your grandchildren sing a hymn.

They're off key and out of tune, but no one cares. From what I understand, you were tone deaf, but it never stopped you from belting out songs as a child, much to the deep embarrassment of all your sisters.

They have read the story as well, but they accept my presence among them. I think they always knew deep down that I was more than a friend.

They ask me to tell a story during the service. I tell them about the first day that we met. The bar, seeing your innocent face, unfamiliar with war.

Jett knows what I mean. He smiles sadly as I talk about how innocent you seemed in that moment, unaware of what war really meant.

Your children seem wary around me. They are confused and hurt. I know they are, because Amanda was the same at first. I let them decide what they want to take and leave from our story on their own.

We arrange all the legal things required for transporting your ashes back to the US. But before we leave, I head into the outback.

Your homeland is beautiful, Kyle. I mark places on a map, knowing that one day, I want our ashes to be spread here together in your beautiful deserts, amazing forests, and warm oceans. Amanda promises that she or Alfie will bring us both back one day, so we can always be together.

When we're ready to leave, Jett drives us to the airport. Avery and Zoe kiss your ashes goodbye.

The drive is quiet, and as we turn to leave, Jett stops us before we go through security.

"My grandma Mary tried to destroy this... But I think it belongs to you."

The framed photo rests heavy in my hands. I look up at Jett, and he smiles softly, the same way you did all those years ago.

I stand up out of my chair and hug him tightly.

"Thank you." I say.

He nods.

We go home.

Two years later, your grandson enters my home accompanied by my grandson. They have both gotten their honorable discharges. They hold hands and look and me and Amanda, as if afraid we will tell them to leave.

Instead, I smile. "Welcome home, boys."

***

_ Jett _

He lives another six years, granddad.

He smiles every day, jokes with Amanda. He watches Alfie come home safe and sound, and manages to do what I could not, ending his time as a smoker.

And one day, when Alfie brings me home with him, he laughs and welcomes me into the family.

Grandma Mary eventually accepts that she cannot change you or your story. She moves on. She tries to change me instead.

It doesn't work.

I think she was honestly surprised when I stood up, looked her in the face, and told her if she couldn't accept me, perhaps I shouldn't accept her as a member of my family again.

I admit, that might have been a little harsh, but it sure felt good to say after she spent the whole afternoon insulting Alfie while he bore it with a grin on his face.

She doesn't like Alfie, of course. He reminds her too much of Alfred. But she can't control what paths life takes us on.

It feels wrong for me to finish your story, the one that you began so long ago in Vietnam. You gave it to Alfred, and he gave it to Alfie and me.

We mix your ashes together after he passes away. We spread some in the backyard in San Francisco, and take some to Oz with us when Alfie and I go to show off the little girl we've adopted.

Yeah, Avery and Zoe have a niece. We'd better watch out,

But what do we do with the rest of your ashes? Alfie comes up with the answer. There's a program that takes people's ashes and turns them into building blocks for coral reefs. We send your ashes there.

You and Alfred are part of the Great Barrier Reef now, granddad. One day our little girl is going to swim in those waters, mark my words.

It's funny to me, how love can change the world. When I first learned what you were, when I read your words, I felt hurt. Betrayed, even. But as I stand here with Alfie, I'm starting to see why you did it.

Love meant everything to you. It was what made you happy. You loved Grandma Mary. You just loved Alfred more.

You let me go to war even though it hurt because you knew that love sometimes hurts, but the best thing you can do is allow the people you love to go free. And I thank you, granddad.

I guess this is the end of your story, granddad. Alfie and I are writing our own story now, and I need to remember to write that story with my baby girl.

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you. Your great granddaughter's name!

Her name is Kylie Amelia Kirkland-Jones.

And her first words?

"Love you!"

_-Jett Jacob Kirkland-Jones_


End file.
